Nathaniel Peabody Rogers: Color-phobia, November 10, 1838

COLOR-PHOBIA.

Our people have got it. They have got it in the blue, collapse stage. Many of them have got it so bad, they can't get well. They will die of it. It will be a mercy, if the nation does not. What a dignified, philosophic malady! Dread of complexion. They don't know they have got it — or think, rather, they took it the natural way. But they were inoculated. It was injected into their veins and incided into their systems, by old Doctor Slavery, the great doctor that the famous Dr. Wayland studied with. There is a kind of varioloid type, called colonization. They generally go together, or all that have one are more apt to catch the other. Inoculate for one, (no matter which,) and they will have both, before they get over it. The remedy and the preventive, if taken early, is a kine-pock sort of matter, by the name of anti-slavery. It is a safe preventive and a certain cure. None that have it, genuine, ever catch slavery or colonization or the color-phobia. You can't inoculate either into them. It somehow changes and redeems the constitution, so that it is unsusceptible of them. An abolitionist can sleep safely all night in a close room, where there has been a colonization meeting the day before. He might sleep with It. R. Gurley and old Dr. Proudfit, three in a bed, and not catch it. The remedy was discovered by Dr. William Lloyd Jenner-Garrison.

This color-phobia is making terrible havoc among our communities. Anti-slavery drives it out, and after a while cures it. But it is a base, low, vulgar ailment. It is meaner, in fact, than the itch. It is worse to get rid of than the “seven years' itch.” It is fouler than Old Testament leprosy. It seems to set the dragon into a man, and make him treat poor, dark-skinned folks like a tiger. It goes hardest with dark-complect white people. They have it longer and harder than light-skinned people. It makes them sing out “Nigger—nigger,” sometimes in their sleep. Sometimes they make a noise like this, “Darkey—darkey— darkey.” Sometimes, “Wully—wully—wully.” They will turn up their noses, when they see colored people, especially if they are of a pretty rank, savory habit of person, themselves. They are generally apt to turn up their noses, as though there was some “bad smell” in the neighborhood, when they have it bad, and are naturally pretty odoriferous. It is a tasty disorder — a beautiful ailment; very genteel, and apt to go in “first families.” We should like to have Hogarth take a sketch of a community that had it — of ours, for instance, when the St. Vitus’ fit was on. We have read somewhere of a painter, who made so droll a picture, that he died a-laughing at the sight of it. Hogarth might not laugh at this picture. It would be a sight to cry at, rather than laugh, especially if he could see the poor objects of our frenzy, when the fit is on — which indeed is all the time, for it is an unintermittent. Our attitude would be most ridiculous and ludicrous, if it were not too mortifying and humiliating and cruel. Our Hogarth would be apt to die of something else than laughter, at sight of his sketch.

The courtly malady is the secret of all our anti-abolition, and all our mobocracy. It shuts up all the consecrated meetinghouses — and all the temples of justice, the court-houses, against the friends of negro liberty. It is all alive with fidgets about desecrating the Sabbath with anti-slavery lectures. It thinks anti-slavery pew-owners can't go into them, or use their pulpit, when it is empty, without leave of the minister whom they employ to preach in it. It will forcibly shut people out of their own houses and off their own land, — not with the respectful violence of enemies and trespassers, but the contemptuous unceremoniousness of the plantation overseer — mingled moreover with the slavish irascibility of the poor negro, when he holds down his fellow-slave for a flogging. It sneers at human rights through the free press. It handed John B. Mahin over to the alligators of Kentucky. It shot Elijah P. Lovejoy at Alton. It dragged away the free school, at Canaan. It set Pennsylvania Hall a-fire.

It broke Miss Crandall's school windows, and threw filth into her well. It stormed the female prayer meeting in Boston, with a “property and standing” forlorn hope. It passed the popish resolution at Littleton, in Grafton county. It shut up the meeting-house at Meredith Bridge, against minister and all, — and the homely court-house there, and howled like bedlam around the little, remote district school-house, and broke the windows at night. It excludes consideration and prayer in regard to the forlorn and christian-made heathenism of the American colored man, from county conferences and clerical associations. It broods over the mousings of the New York Observer, and gives keenness to the edge and point of its New Hampshire name-sake. It votes anti-slavery lectures out of the New Hampshire state house, and gives it public hearing on petitions, in a seven by nine committee room. It answers the most insulting mandate of southern governors, calling for violations of the state constitution and bill of rights, by legislative report and resolves that the paramount rights of slavery are safe enough in New Hampshire, without these violations. It sneers and scowls at woman's speaking in company, unless to simper, when she is flattered by a fool of the masculine or neuter gender. It won't sign an anti-slavery petition, for fear it will put back emancipation half a century. It votes in favor of communing with slaveholders, and throwing the pulpit wide open to men-stealers, to keep peace in the churches, and prevent disunion. It will stifle and strangle sympathy for the slave and " remembrance of those in bonds," to prevent disturbance of religious revivals. It will sell the American slave to buy Bibles, or hire negro-hating and negro-buying missionaries for foreign heathen of all quarters but christian-wasted Africa. It prefers American lecturers on slavery, to having that foreign emissary, George Thompson, come over here, to interfere with American rights and prejudices. It abhors "church action" and "meddling with politics." In short, it abhors slavery in the abstract — wishes it might be done away, but denies the right of any body or any thing to devise its overthrow, but slavery itself and slaveholders. It prays for the poor slave, that he might be elevated, while it stands both feet on his breast to keep him down. It prays God might open a way in his own time for the deliverance of the slave, while it stands, with arms akimbo, right across the way he has already opened. Time would fail us to tell of its extent and depth in this free country, or the deeds it has done. Anti-slavery must cure it, or it must die out like the incurable drunkards.

SOURCE: Collection from the Miscellaneous Writings of Nathaniel Peabody Rogers, Second Edition, p. 44-7 which states it was published in the Herald of Freedom of November 10, 1838.

Nathaniel Peabody Rogers: Dr. Farmer Dead, September 1, 1838

We were amazed as well as deeply afflicted, at the death of this distinguished and most excellent man. His departure surprised us — invalid as he long has been, and feeble as was his hold on life — so insensible are we to the uncertainty and frailty of mortal existence! We have lost a highly valued personal friend, as well as our cause a faithful, devoted and invaluable advocate. We could weep for ourselves as well as for the poor slave, who does not know his loss. But it is not a time to weep. Survivors on the field do not pause in thick of the fight, to lament comrades or chieftains falling around them.

The departed Farmer lived and died a devoted abolitionist. We proclaim this amid the notes of his requiem and the tolling of his knell — in the ears of the scorner of the supplicating slave and of bleeding liberty. Admirers of his distinguished worth — his admirable industry — his capacity — his usefulness — his blameless life — who felt awed at his virtues, while he lived almost invisibly among men — mingling with the busy throng of life scarcely more than now his study-worn frame reposes in the grave — know all, and be reminded all, that Farmer was in zeal, in devotion, in principles and in measures, not a whit behind the very chiefest abolitionist. No heart beat more ardently than his, in the great cause of human rights — or more keenly felt the insults, the inhumanity and the ruffian persecutions, heaped upon its friends. How deep was his mortification at the brutal and ignoble treatment of the generous and gifted Thompson, and with what agonizing solicitude did his heart throb, as the life of that innocent and most interesting and wonderful stranger was hunted in our streets! How freely would he have yielded up his own sickness-wasted form, to save his friend! Scorners of the slave — sneerers at the negro's plea — ruthless invaders (whoever you are) of the hearth of hospitality and the sanctities of Home, we point you to the fresh grave of Farmer. To the grave of Kimball, too, his beloved brother — that young martyred heart — who still pleaded among you, unheeded but faithfully, the cause of the suffering and the dumb, when his voice was hollow with consumption — whose mild eye still beamed with remembrance of those in bonds, when lustrous with the hectic touch of death. To the grave of young Bradley too, who bowed his beautiful head to the destroyer, like the “lily of the field” surcharged with rain, remembering the down-trodden slave amid all the promises and allurements of youth and genius. And to other graves recent in your peopled church-yard, into which we should have looked with heart-broken disconsolation, but for thought of the resurrection. To these graves we point you — as you ponder on the past — not now to be recalled — registered for eternity.

Advocates of the slave too, a voice from the church-yard speaks also to you. There is neither knowledge, nor wisdom, nor device there, where the departed faithful lie, and whither you hasten. Your brothers and sisters in bondage descend thither in the darkness of brutal heathenism, from lives that know no consolation. What thy hands find to do, do with thy might.

SOURCE: Collection from the Miscellaneous Writings of Nathaniel Peabody Rogers, Second Edition, p. 13-4 which states it was published in the Herald of Freedom of September 1, 1838.

Charles Sumner to Francis Lieber, May 2, 1865

I read to President Johnson Colonel Baker’s letter,¹ with your introduction. He said at once that he accepted every word of it; that colored persons are to have the right of suffrage; that no State can be precipitated into the Union; that rebel States must go through a term of probation. All this he had said to me before. Ten days ago the chief-justice and myself visited him in the evening to speak of these things. I was charmed by his sympathy, which was entirely different from his predecessor's. The chief-justice is authorized to say wherever he is what the President desires, and to do everything he can to promote organization without distinction of color. The President desires that the movement should appear to proceed from the people. This is in conformity with his general ideas; but he thinks it will disarm party at home. I told him that while I doubted if the work could be effectively done without federal authority, I regarded the modus operandi as an inferior question; and that I should be content, provided equality before the law was secured for all without distinction of color. I said during this winter that the rebel States could not come back, except on the footing of the Declaration of Independence and the complete recognition of human rights. I feel more than ever confident that all this will be fulfilled. And then what a regenerated land! I had looked for a. bitter contest on this question; but with the President on our side, it will be carried by simple avoirdupois.”

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¹ Of North Carolina, late a Confederate officer.

SOURCE: Edward Lillie Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Volume 4, p. 243

Senator Charles Sumner to Governor John A. Andrew, January 26, 1861

Washington, January 26, 1861.

My Dear Andrew, — Yesterday I was with the Attorney-General,¹ an able, experienced, Northern Democratic lawyer, with the instincts of our profession on the relation of cause and effect. He drew me into his room, but there were clerks there; opening the door into another room, there were clerks there, too; and then traversing five different rooms, he found them all occupied by clerks; when, opening the door into the entry, he told me he was “surrounded by Secessionists,” who would report in an hour to the newspapers any interview between us, — that he must see me at some other time and place, — that everything was bad as could be, — that Virginia would certainly secede,—that the conspiracy there was the most wide-spread and perfect, — that all efforts to arrest it by offers of compromise, or by the circulation of Clemens's speech, were no more than that (snapping his fingers), — that Kentucky would surely follow, and Maryland, too. “Stop, Mr. Attorney,” said I, “not so fast. I agree with you to this point, — Maryland would go, except for the complication of the National Capital, which the North will hold, and also the road to it.”

Of course you will keep Massachusetts out of all these schemes. If you notice the proposition for a commission, say that it is summoned to make conditions which contemplate nothing less than surrender of cherished principles, so that she can have nothing to do with it.

My opinion has been fixed for a long time. All the Slave States will go, except Delaware, and perhaps Maryland and Missouri, — to remain with us Free States.

The mistake of many persons comes from this, — they do not see that we are in the midst of a revolution, where reason is dethroned, and passion rules instead. If this were a mere party contest, then the circulation of speeches and a few resolutions might do good. But what are such things in a revolution? As well attempt to hold a man-of-war in a tempest by a little anchor borrowed from Jamaica Pond; and this is what I told the Boston Committee with regard to their petition .

I have but one prayer: Stand firm, keep every safeguard of Human Rights on our statute-book, and save Massachusetts glorious and true.

Ever yours,

Charles Sumner.

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¹ Hon. Edwin M. Stanton.

SOURCE: Charles Sumner; His Complete Works, Volume 7, p. 191-3

Reverend J. C. Fletcher to William Cullen Bryant, October 22, 1863

Rio De Janeiro, October 22d.

The two volumes of your poems, which I received from you last summer, I had the pleasure of putting into the hands of the Emperor of Brazil this morning. Your name and some of your works were already familiar to him, and for a long time he has had your likeness, and for some ten years the picture of your residence. He desires me to thank you for those volumes, and wishes you to know that he is ready to do all that is in his power for the advancement of human rights. He desires to see the day when Brazil (whose laws in regard to human rights, so far as the black man is concerned, have always been far in advance of yours) shall not have a single slave. He takes a deep interest in our struggle, and believes that the whole sentiment of Brazil, of planters as well as non-slaveholders, is against an institution which Portuguese cruelty and short-sightedness left as a heritage to Brazil, and which institution will perish in the mild process of law in a very few years, and, if the North is successful, in a much shorter period.

SOURCE: Parke Godwin, A Biography of William Cullen Bryant, Volume 1, p. 199